DAYS of the whirling snowflakes, nights of the weeping wind, That move to a gloomy future, that come from the dark behind, Carry upon their bosoms the sorrows of hope defiled — The wail of the bootless bairn, the cry of the hapless child. Not for him is the Christmas and all the sweets it brings, Nor does he share the New Year's hope of bright and beautiful things, Ah, never for him is the festal board with Nature's bounties piled, The wan-eyed bootless bairn — the poor, uncared-for child. Oh! why do we prate of our glory and lightning lettered fame, When the winds of the city roadways are breathing our people's shame? And ev'ry castle builded is a hundred homes despoiled — Our fame leaves the bairn bootless, our glory the hapless child. Then it is ours to labour and help with the passing suns, To brighten with word and action the lot of the little ones, For the sins of our age hang heavy on defiler and defiled, They fall on the bootless bairn, and crush the hapless child. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MAGNETIC MOUNTAIN: 32 by CECIL DAY LEWIS TO DEAN-BOURN, A RUDE RIVER IN DEVON, BY WHICH ... HE LIVED by ROBERT HERRICK TOMORROW by FELIX LOPE DE VEGA CARPIO TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON by RICHARD LOVELACE ON THE HOME GUARDS; WHO PERISHED ... LEXINGTON, MISSOURI by HERMAN MELVILLE THE END OF THE PLAY by WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY GO NOW' by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS: PART 3: 34. MUTABILITY by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |